The Worst Poems Ever
by Anakin McFly
Summary: Presenting The Ode to the Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning, My Favourite Bathtime Gurgles, and the varied colourful works of Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings...
1. Putty

Disclaimer: _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ belongs to the late Douglas Noel Adams. May he rest in peace. Or pieces, as the case may be.

Hope this poem is bad enough. ;P

* * *

**Ode to the Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning**

Oh, lump of green putty, how green art thou  
And putty-ish, and small, and lumpy, and greenish  
What doest thou in yonder armpit  
That is not that yonder, because it is mine  
Perchance thou can stand the stench  
That flows out from my armpit  
Which has not been washed for many a year  
And caused the murder of many innocents  
Through death by gas.  
Or smell.  
'Tis a wonderful midsummer morning  
Not fit for snuggling up in armpits.  
In sooth, there are better places to be  
For something as putty-ish, and small, and lumpy, and greenish  
As yourself.  
And now I take you out  
And I look at you  
And marvel at your putty-ish, and small, and lumpy, and greenish  
Self.  
And I smell you.  
Your wondrous aroma fills the air  
Like a passing zephyr  
And kills the bacteria frolicking with gay abandon on the desk  
Behind me.  
And I touch you.  
Ah, your delicate body depresses under the gentle touch of my finger  
And falls apart, but I stick you together again  
And you are whole once more, my love.  
Once again resplendent in your full glory  
Putty-ish, and small, and lumpy, and greenish.  
And I listen to you.  
But you make naught a sound.  
Just the gentle vibrations that all things give out  
In this universe in which we live.  
The subtle assurance of your existence  
Flows into my eardrums  
And out again, finding its passage  
Blocked by a Babel fish.  
And I taste you.  
Slowly, you slip down my tongue  
And the amylase in my mouth reaches out to digest you into glucose  
But it cannot; for you are not starch,  
But green putty.  
And you make your life's journey  
Down my oesophagus  
Towards my stomach  
Where your fate awaits you.  
The gastric juices bubble up  
In long-anticipated anticipation.  
And digests you, oh lump of green putty.  
And you are gone  
Had you ever been here before?  
That is a question without an answer.  
Farewell, my love.  
I will miss you.  
Your putty-ish, smallish, lumpy-ish and greenish  
Self.  
See if I don't.

* * *

Review! ;D 


	2. Gurgles

Thanks for all your reviews! Here's another one, written by a member of the second worst poets in existence.

(My brother says this one was not as good. I say that's the whole point.)

I just watched the first two episodes of the H2G2 TV series, and it turns out that someone - Douglas Adams? - _did_ write a segment of the green putty poem, which was shown at the second episode. There were two lines that ran: "Armpit... putty. Putty... armpit." Anyway.

* * *

**MY FAVOURITE BATHTIME GURGLES**

Oh bathtub, dear bathtub, how nicely you're shaped  
So round and so smooth as I feel you all over  
And splash! as I get into you for my bath  
And glup! as the water gets into my mouth.  
And glug and a blorfle and gwomble and bloop  
I gurgle so happily; oh how do you do?

I shampoo the hair on my favourite head  
And slather the other with pink marmalade  
Kargurble, oh flooble, oh garahagoop  
I gurgle while downing a bowl of blue soup  
Chamarba, lafooga, oh glurgahiya  
I rinse off the soap suds with spinach from far  
There's spinach in my hair now, so I eat up some  
While gurgling in joy for it tastes real yum  
And oops! Some green spinach fell into the tub  
Poop bathtub! I'm sorry! Malyooyahgub.

Glug glug glup gloop slahahahagaglug  
Gurgle.  
Gurgle.  
Gurgle?  
Gloog.


	3. Uncle Joe

Disclaimer: _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ belongs to the late Douglas Noel Adams, and Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings is likewise his creation. All that belongs to me are the fictional works of said bad poet.

Thanks for your reviews so far! ;) More poems to come...

* * *

**Uncle Joe**  
_A poem by Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings_

Uncle Joe lay in his coffin at the funeral  
His anus exactly 98.2 centimetres from his head.  
His face was pale white  
Which reminded me of the maggots that were to come.  
Long, white, slimy ones  
Short, fat, juicy ones  
Itsy bitsy tiny little maggots.  
They would soon be crawling in and out of Uncle Joe  
Through his mouth  
Out his nostrils  
Sliding along his nosehairs  
Leaving trails of mucus everywhere  
Back in through his eardrums  
Slithering down his earhair  
Laying their eggs in the decomposing remains of his bellybutton which he never cleaned.  
Savouring the mangled flesh that falls of him in huge great chunks.  
(Kind of like chicken nugget chunks, but not really.)

I once did an experiment on maggots in school  
We got some meat  
Put it into a container  
And left it to rot.  
I brought mine home from school filled with maggots ad my baby sister ate it.  
Maybe she'll try to eat  
Dear old Uncle Joe  
If she sees him when he's rotting.  
But that would be called cannibalism,  
Which is kind of rude and you shouldn't do it,  
No matter how yummy someone looks.

That's what Uncle Joe used to tell me.  
And now he's dead and his corpse is  
Falling apart smellily six feet underground.

That's why I wrote this poem to remember him by.  
I know he'll appreciate it.  
The same way my sister appreciates the taste of maggots.

**- end -**


	4. Constipation

Disclaimer: I own the rights to none of the H2G2 franchise, but these poems are all mine.

Paula learns the artistic value of having no capital letters.

**Constipation**  
_A literary work by Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings_

**I.**

the toilet bowl was round, it's once-gleaming  
ceramic bowl now spattered all over  
with not-quite-dried urine - (my brother's fault)  
i pulled down my pants and sat down.  
ah, wet.  
little drops of yellow urine, bursting  
under my buttcheeks as i sat.  
ah, wet.  
i huffed and i puffed, but nothing came out  
i wheezed and i sneezed, but nothing came out  
my face turned all red. my nostrils were flared  
into the depths of the toilet, i stared.

**II.**

waiting, hoping, and pushing so hard, so  
hard, so hard, so hard, so hard, oh, mercy!  
urine had dried on my butt's underside  
i almost cried. so hard, so hard, so  
hard, so hard, so hard, so hard, oh, mercy!

**III.**

and then, and then, oh, that wondrous feeling!  
peristalsis at my anus! what joy!  
and the faeces moved down, down, down, down -

plop!

and i was

_free._

**- end - **

...Sorry.


	5. Furst Luv

Disclaimer: Don't own H2G2, don't own Paula, but I do, sadly enough, own her creative gurgitations.

* * *

**First Luv lyk omg**  
_A romantic piece by Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings_

His eyes were the exact shade of green as stomach bile  
Mashed together with green emerald bits for that speckly effect  
To give the colour a bluebottle would be  
If it were green and not blue.

His hair were like streaks of a wet squirrel's fur  
That had been playing with joy in a mudhole  
Of the kind that little pigs like to roll in when they're still alive  
(Not when they're dead and being eaten)

His lips were red, like O-positive blood  
And his nose had two holes, where if you looked closely  
You could see bits of dried mucus dangling from his nose hair  
The same way bits of dried earwax dangled from his ear hair

He was so sweet, he gave me toothache.

That's why we broke up. He made me hurt.

**the end**.


	6. Kidney

Disclaimer: I have not ownership of the rights to _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ five-part trilogy.

I was reading the August 2003 draft of the H2G2 movie script, and in it was mentioned the title of another Vogon poetic masterpiece, as well as how the poem that secured Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings' position as the worst poet in history had been about decaying swans.

Armed with this knowledge, I wrote both poems; on hindsight I realise that they could probably have been worse. However, after too many attempts at writing good poetry so as to get published in magazines (to date I've got one poem published. I got AUD10 for it.), I'm kind of out of practice.

So apologies in advance for this not being sufficiently bad and Vogon-like. At points I was tempted to ditch the Vogon thing and make it into nifty comic poetry, which was not good.

The two poems shall be strategically posted some time apart in separate chapters so as to milk as many reviews as possible.

* * *

**ODE TO THE REMOVAL OF YOUR LEFT KIDNEY**

This delicate operation is no easy feat at all  
We'll slice your left side right open and pull out your left kidney  
Pull out your left kidney  
Pull out your kidney  
Oh, oh, gharwargely.

The surgeons are not qualified, but neither is your kidney  
Your unqualified left kidney  
They will go well together  
Especially deep fried.  
And if you want, for a token fee,  
And after the proper requests are made  
And copied  
And signed in triplicate  
And lost in filing cabinets  
And found  
And all again for good measure  
We'll let you have a bite  
A bite of your left kidney  
We'll all eat your left kidney  
Oh, oh, gharwargely.

Be on watch for that one moment  
Of deep profound Vogonity  
That will stir up into whirls of joy  
And loss  
The most primal emotions in you  
As we sever the knotty stringy thingy  
That binds you to your left kidney  
Your bond to your left kidney  
Gone forever, how sad.  
Oh, oh, gharwargely.

And soon, it will be  
_Gone._  
(Your left kidney.)

**THE END.**


	7. Swans

Disclaimer: I still do not own the rights to _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ five-part trilogy.

In which Paula learns the fun of rhymes.

* * *

**THE DECAY OF SWANS**

Swans in a pond will  
Decay over time  
Like a lime  
On a till  
Dead swans will  
Decay over time  
It's kind of stinky.

They really stink  
Of decay  
I think  
I may  
Smell one now  
Wonder how  
They would smell  
If they didn't decay.  
(Probably less stinky.)

Switchform!

Slowly the swans in the ponds fall to bits  
Shreds of flesh falling and floating away  
With maggots riding feathers towards the horizon  
The tiny hitchhikers sure know how to hitchhike in style.  
But back to the swans as they decay in the pond  
It's really quite agonising to watch, 'cause it's  
Kind of slow, do you know? No you don't.  
No one watches swans decay.  
Except me. Sometimes. Especially in May.  
People skinny dip in the swan pond then.  
Sometimes they drown. And in a day,  
They float in the water and start to decay.  
Like the swans.  
Over time.  
Like a lime.  
It's kind of stinky.

**THE END.**


End file.
